


God cannot love the way humans can.

by Ghostlaments



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Character Study, Enemies, F/F, Love/Hate, One-Sided Attraction, POV Akemi Homura, POV Second Person, Post-Rebellion Story, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostlaments/pseuds/Ghostlaments
Summary: You hate her, and she hates you. At least that has never changed.character/dynamic study of homura akemi and sayaka miki
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka, Akemi Homura/Miki Sayaka
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	God cannot love the way humans can.

**Author's Note:**

> man what the fuck

On route xxxx[ **data expunged** ] you try something new.

Maybe it’s boredom. A need to throw a wrench into the gear of repetition. You can only relive the same days over and over and over before you start slipping into that fog of apathy, right? Sometimes you need something different. 

Maybe it’s curiosity. After all, you can do whatever you want, regardless of consequences. Why shouldn’t you use this to find out what you can? To explore every outlet. The city you live in is huge, full of possibilities. No one would know your name on the other side of town. Escape completely, become someone  _ new.  _ You could live an entirely new life every month, if you wanted. 

Well, not really, since the world tends to end even harder every time you restart it. 

Maybe it’s a distraction. It’s a sort of relief, that will allow you to unwind, to take your mind off of the pressing matter at hand, the pushing heartache of what you’ve turned yourself into. An escape from who you’ve become, no longer a person but now just a machine created to complete the goal set. A distraction to help you feel alive again, to feel like more than  _ this.  _

(In truth, it’s none of these things. In truth, it’s a punishment. For you? For her? For  _ Madoka,  _ as beautiful and undeserving as she is? Maybe. Maybe you need retribution. You need her to look at you the way you’ve looked at her every day, every month, every week. You need to feel like she is the one chasing you, not the other way around. Jealousy. Selfishness. Love, love, love love  _ love.) _

Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? 

* * *

“I hate you,” she tells you, all rough edges and bitter and _ hurt _ . She is nothing like  _ her,  _ who is all soft edges and caring and  _ kind.  _ Unlike  _ her,  _ you can taste the envy in her body, thinner than yours, softer than yours. You nod back, because you know. She never likes you. You nod back because you hate her too, or tell yourself you do. Because she would rather have your hate than what you really feel, which is pity. Pity for the stupid girl. Kyouko was right. A wish should be for yourself. And yet, in every pathetic timeline, in every variation…

“I know.” Sayaka Miki distrusts you in every variation. She’s right to, especially now, but even back then, before your feet obtained grace and your arms obtained muscle, she regarded you with suspicion. If you cared, which you used to, this would be unfair. Unfounded. You were nervous and shy, hardly a threat to anyone. Especially not Sayaka. Sayaka has determination, paired with a stubborn temper which makes her a decent ally and an infuriating annoyance. 

You remember how it struck you at the time, ate at your confidence and left you scurrying to Madoka’s side, intimidated by the bluntness in her eyes and the spark, spark, erratic energy in her voice.

Now, the tables turn. Now, you can’t even blame her. You understand her now, a rough, bitter energy that she can’t turn her chin up at. Sayaka hates you no matter what form you take, but at least you have the upper hand now. Intimidation fuels into her hatred, but she never really mattered, did she?

You’ve decided not to interfere with Kaname this time around, for the sake of both of you. You’ll hunt every witch and familiar yourself, before someone (Mami) can get to them. She’s a lovely girl, but the stress is too much for her, and so is the loneliness. If there’s one thing that she and Sayaka have in common, it’s that they both deal with it the same. Which is to say: terribly. At least Kyouko and you have the mind to not drag others down with you. 

“What’s your deal, transfer student?” she snaps, fiery even without her sword and cape. How Madoka is friends with such a firecracker, someone so brash and rude and unrelenting—you’ll never understand. 

“My deal?” you feign ignorance, and she buys it for a complete zero seconds. Her glare gets angrier. 

“Fine,” you snap, giving up the ghost. You want to tell her that she’s an idiot, that she should stop being friends with Madoka if she’s only going to hurt her. You want to tell her that you’ve never met someone as stupid, as naive. That you’ve only ever saved her for Madoka’s sake, and that every other interaction has been as unpleasant as she is. That she’s a fool, and all she’ll ever be is a fool, since she’ll never live to redeem herself. 

What comes out of your mouth is a snappy “Kyousuke will never love you.”

It’s the truth. You’ve tried to spare her from it again and again, even once tried to interfere with Hitomi herself, back when you thought that Sayaka might ease up on you if she was happy and in a relationship with Kyousuke, but it never works. She either never confesses, or the one time she does, she’s too mad and it’s not what she wants and he  _ never pays attention to her _ , and the whining is almost as bad as the heartache. It’s not her fault she fell in love with a boy so dense, but it is her fault that she acts so stupid about it every single time. You’re not trying to be mean, just honest.

And it’s entirely the wrong thing to say, as it always is, because you’re hitting the floor immediately and there’s a swelling, dull pain in your cheek that you know would hurt more if your soul wasn’t tied to a rock, and  _ this bitch punched you. _

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!” she’s standing at your feet, eyes blazing and fists clenched white. You stare in surprise, more at the audacity than the pain. You could kill her. It would be easy. You  _ have  _ killed her, but never as a girl who hasn’t even made a wish. Even that is unthinkable. So you stand up, collected and composed, because you know she hates that more than anything. 

“Tell him yourself, coward.” Your voice slices like a knife. “Tell him and then make your choice. So you have nothing to regret. So he  _ owes you nothing. _ ” You turn on your heel with practiced grace before she can respond, and know you’ve won when she comes in late to class with puffy eyes. 

Sayaka Miki is unbearable. As is Mami, as is Kyouko. Sayaka Miki is her own breed of unbearable, however, for what she does. At least Mami and Kyouko don’t make a fuss when you approach Madoka, but Sayaka Miki has never, ever been content in any loop you’ve sludged through. Even when you posed no threat. Just thinking about it makes the pit in your heart deeper. What a joke. 

What a pain in the ass. 

* * *

  
  


You talk to him once, since you can. Since Sayaka cannot stop you. It’s a show — she has no right to try and scare Madoka from you, and you have no right to talk to Kyousuke. But here you are. Walking to the hospital where he spends all his days. Loops without Madoka are incredibly boring, and maybe you can catch a glimpse of whatever Miki sees in him. 

“I heard you like this kind of chocolate,” you say, closing the door softly. He turns in surprise as you make your way over to the bed, heels soft on the hardwood floor. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you?” it’s a statement as much as it is a question. His smile is warm and polite but his eyes are tired and confused. He must see so many visitors, so many people who only want to shower him in their pity. You used to know, and for a moment you feel bad. And then the moment is over. 

You smile and hand him the chocolates, store bought and wrapped. 

“Akemi Homura. I just transferred in. We would be in the same class.” 

_ if you weren’t in the hospital _ goes unsaid, but you know he hears it.

You don’t mention how you got in, how you used your limited powers to bypass every nurse. Stepped around their frozen bodies and opened the door before he even knew you were there. “Miki-san sent me.”

“Yes. she’s a dear friend of yours, isn’t she?” You tilt your head. Cycles ago, you would’ve been sweeter. Now, even forcing the ice in your gaze to melt is too much trouble. 

He laughs a little, as if it’s  _ funny,  _ and that confirms what you already know. “I suppose you could say that. We grew up together.”

“I can tell. She is fond of you.” He doesn’t say anything to that, but you know. You know what a boy in love looks like. You know what a boy  _ aware  _ of love looks like. This is not one. You wonder if Sayaka could ever be happy with him. Probably not, but she tries anyway. What a joke.

“Tell her I said thank you for the chocolate,” he smiles. It’s an obligation. You don’t smile back. You’ve never had the time for it. You leave soon after, and wonder. If you hadn’t gone down this path, if you had ended up back in bed, would Madoka visit as attentively as Sayaka? 

* * *

  
  


This time, when she finds you, you have the sense to sidestep the punch. She’s furious, but when is she not? When have you ever made her happy? Your existence is her unbalance. You throw problems into her steady life, more than she eagerly does by yourself.

“What did you say to him??  _ What did you do???”  _

“Nothing,” you tell her, truthfully. You could’ve said a lot. You know you could’ve. You might, one day. “It’s childish for someone to confess  _ for  _ you. Cowardly, even.”

You are both still children. You can say all you want about time, and growth, and maybe it’s true that you’ve grown up too fast, the same month blurring into years that are traumatically embedded into your brain in such a way that all the therapy in the world probably can’t undo what you’ve seen, but you are still a child. You are painfully aware of this, and the truth that neither of you will ever live long enough to be adults. Miki especially will never get this privilege. The pity comes back full swing, and you expertly stamp it down. 

It’s her fault, anyway. 

* * *

“You’re not very smart, Homura-chan.”

You set your glare on her, and she smiles back. It’s weird. She was always more immature than you, naive and bitter and stupid. But now she smiles at you with knowledge, with that  _ look  _ in her eyes that you know too well. Pity. Sympathy. Something stupid.

“What makes you say that?” You balance on the tread with your voice, footing secure. Because you have to stay above. This is a battle, like every battle you’ve had with Miki Sayaka. Rivals, in your own rights. Kyouko was always a stupid rival for her, but you… you make sense. 

“Madoka…” she sighs, a note, a song. A sweetness in her voice you’ve only heard in yours. It makes you blind with rage, with jealousy.  _ Stay composed, stay composed.  _ You never stopped winning since route three, when you could say things to get under her skin before she even learned your name, but now she’s catching up. She’s winning at the unspoken game between you. “Isn’t She beautiful?” It’s a prayer, you hate it. It’s a hymn, and your heart pounds searing hot fire against your ribs. 

Maybe she’s the witch, you think desperately, clawing for a foothold to hold onto. Something to help you win. Maybe this labyrinth is hers. It fits the bill. When did she grow past you? What does she know that you don’t? Is this what death does? Bring a peace you can’t understand? A maturity you can’t reach? It blinds you. The walls feel tight and dark around your neck, and you grip your shield harder, wanting the drip drip drip of a leaky faucet nearby to just _stop._ There’s a puddle at your feet and the water sloshes and soaks your feet with every shift of your boots.

“Madoka Kaname is my best friend,” she continues, smiling, staring you in the eye. “You of all people should understand that.”

Loyalty. Jealousy. You are one in the same. Wanting a God for yourself. You feel the blaze in your chest, a fire of black flames. _ Keep it steady, Homura, don’t look down, Homura. Don’t let her win, Homura.  _

“Kyousuke,” you mutter desperately. She nods like she knows.  _ But you love him,  _ you think.  _ You love him and it ruined you. You loved him and you ruined your life for him. You can’t have Madoka as well. You can’t. _

“You have a one track mind,” she tells you evenly. “I understand that you can’t comprehend. But you of all people should recognize feelings. It takes one to know one, however that saying goes, and I really did understand you. Perhaps that’s why I hated you so much. We could’ve gotten along.”

You both know you could never have gotten along. 

“I didn’t trust you because you threatened me. You didn’t like me because I threatened you. Neither of us got what we wanted, in the end.” she looks bittersweet, which she always does, nowadays. “I can never match you, Akemi-san.”

You don’t say anything to that, unsure what she’s talking about. Kyouko always complained that you talked in riddles, and now you understand the frustration. Maybe you are too similar. 

“Take care of Her,” she says, and all of the rough edges are gentle. “Take care of yourself.” And then she’s gone again. 

The moon hangs bright and heavy behind you, bathing the city in yellow.

  
  
  
  


She says you have a one track mind, but sometimes you wonder. Wonder what it would be like to stop all this nonsense for just one loop, to pull away from Madoka for just a month. If she would hate it. You want her to hate it, on some level. To kiss and touch and hug, not out of love, but out of  _ something.  _ Something bad, something that isn’t soft or gentle or caring, but something with edges that doesn’t care about stepping on feelings or stepping on hearts. Something you don’t have to mess up because there’s nothing  _ to  _ mess up. Nothing that isn’t already messed up from the very conception of it. 

* * *

  
  


She lies beside you on the grass, dew dampening the fabric of her school uniform. “I hate you,” she says, like an afterthought.

You nod. “You should.” 

“Madoka doesn’t need you.” There’s no malice in her voice, and you hate that.

_ But I need her,  _ you think. What is a world without it’s god? What’s a  _ devil  _ without her god? 

“I know.” the wind ruffles through your hair, silky and splan out on the grass. In the distance, cars run perfectly on time and in sync. The air is warm but not hot, never humid. The clouds are bright and fluffy, molding into shapes, just how She loves them. Where is she today? You don’t know. You used to always knew. You don’t know what to do with yourself, now. The days are changing. Summer exists. You don’t remember what fall looks like anymore.

“What are you going to do?” you ask, breaking the cicada filled silence.

“What do you mean?” she sits up. She’s about to go on a speel about bravery, or hope, or some selfless bullshit that they both know only fits one person and that one person isn’t here. You cut her off with a click of your tongue.

“With your future,” you explain. “When you graduate.”

The pause stretches on forever. “I.. guess I have that, don’t i?” hesitation litters her voice, and she quickly covers it with a laugh. “I guess I forgot.” I guess I thought I would be dead by now, sword in my hand and blood in my eyes.

“Think about it,” you say, ice melting in your mouth. There is time here to let the spring in. You can be soft, warmed by the sun, golden and pink. “You have time.”

Can you call yourself a child anymore, like they can? You wonder if Madoka asked herself this question, when she transcended. You’ve bypassed mortality, bypassed the linear march of the days. Are you fifteen now? Sixteen? When is your birthday anymore, if you’ve lived the same month again and again? 

“And you?”

You don’t have time. Not like she does. One day your time will run out, punishment onto punishment onto punishment. What will She do when She knows? What will She say? 

Was it worth it? 

“I’m thinking about it.” 

She nods, a patch of blue on the grass. Her hair is soft, you think, you wonder, and you reach over. It’s not as soft as  _ hers,  _ but it’s maintained. Cared for. Yours was soft once, you think, you wonder. She looks at you, a guarded shock in her eyes, tip toeing on defensive and disgusted. But she lets you, and doesn’t say anything. You don’t stay long in return.

There will never be anything here, and both of you know it. There’s a desperation though, a clawing loneliness for someone to understand, someone who deserves it. You are two flawed, terrible, selfish girls, surrounded by all the good in the world. Surrounded by love you don’t deserve. Surrounded by a warmth you can’t reach, a flame that wouldn’t be enough to comfort the ice around your hearts. To never touch. 

But you can touch each other, wrap your fingers around hers and dig your nails into the soft flesh and know that she would let you, fire in her eyes and hate curling up her lips. 

You can hate each other.

And isn’t that good enough?

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i dont even LIKE homura/sayaka. But i think homura and sayaka are both very flawed character who bounce against eachother in very interesting ways. There's no way the best friend and the lover Aren't fighting to be the winner and I don't believe anyone who thinks you can coexist with your partner's best friend without tension. lol. 
> 
> also i rewatched pmmm like a month ago when i started writing this and wanted some fucking DRAMA


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